


Bennu

by NancyBrown



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies), The Mummy Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Post-Night at the Museum 3: Secret of the Tomb, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: Imhotep doesn't wake up in Hamunaptra. He wakes up at the British Museum, where someone has been waiting to meet him for a very long time.





	Bennu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GloriousGoblinQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousGoblinQueen/gifts).



He woke in the darkness, expecting pain. There was always pain in the eternal night of his tomb.

Instead of the horrible scarabs eating him over and over, Imhotep felt … nothing. No pain. He was awake, as he had been awakened over and over for thousands of years, trapped inside the torment of his own mind. Now, something was different. His arms were bound, but he felt flesh on them as he had not felt in so long. His mouth was parched, but he could crack it open under the bandages, and his tongue felt the plump, dry skin of his lips.

He lay there in the pitch black. Had the curse been lifted or fulfilled? Was he alive? Where was Anck Su Namun? Where were his priests?

There were no answers in the darkness. He growled in anger, but soon his groan became a cry of anguish. He was alive, yes, and alone. The pain he felt now had nothing to do with the body and everything to do with the understanding that he was utterly isolated, and had been so for longer than he could comprehend. Sorrow and loss threatened to consume him. He was lost in the desert, buried under tons of sand, unknown, unmourned, and trapped forever.

Then he heard a knock.

"I say," said a cheerful voice. "Did you finally wake up?" The sounds were meaningless to him, but distinctly human. He heard a mutter, and understood there were other noises which had been growing on the periphery of his hearing. He'd mistaken the thump for his own wretched heartbeat.

Outside his sarcophagus, he heard music, drums thrumming out a tune with instruments he couldn't identify. They hit his ears with a loud cacophony as the lid to his coffin was lifted away. Through the bandages, he could see light, blessed light, for the first time in what could have been forever, and nearly had been.

"Up you get, then," said the unintelligible words, and someone was grabbing at his bandages, ripping them away from his eyes, offering Imhotep enough wriggle room to pull his arms free and do the rest himself. The man stepped back, a human, yellow-haired with an odd-looking nose, as though it had been attached badly. His clothes were made of metal.

"I thought I heard you moaning and groaning in there. You hadn't moved around since your display opened. Everyone else thought you weren't going to come alive, but I've been checking on you just in case. You're very welcome! Sir Lancelot at your service." He bowed. Imhotep stared at him uncomprehendingly. He did not get bowed to, not unless he'd been restored as a godlike being. He didn't feel godlike.

He tried a godlike power. He stretched out his arm and said, "You will serve me!"

The man tilted his head to one side. "Pardon?"

It didn't seem to work. Imhotep tried again: "Cower before me, mortal!"

The man took a finger and poked it into his own ear, moving it around. "Sorry, old chap. Haven't a clue what you're saying. King Merenkahre will want to talk to you, I'm sure. The family will be back soon. They've gone up for the night to charge the tablet. Full moon, you know."

Imhotep stared at him. Most was gibberish, but the name Merenkahre stuck out. "Merenkahre?"

"Yes. Do you know him? Uptight old chap, but he's been in such a better mood since his son came home. Well, the good one. We don't talk about the other boy much. Wait here. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you."

The man nodded and wandered away. Imhotep struggled to free himself of the rest of his bindings. Around him, strange creatures moved, heedless of his struggles: giant bony dragons, tiny beasts that reminded him uncomfortably of scarabs, and humans he'd never seen the like of before. They ignored him, chattering to each other, or dancing to the music that blared around them from overhead.

Imhotep understood at last. He had been allowed to die. This was the afterlife. He had been judged for his part in defying and murdering the Pharaoh and now he existed here with monsters.

He stood for the first time in thousands of years. Then he stretched. It felt good. Perhaps death was just the beginning.

He made his way through the great tomb. He'd never seen such craftsmanship. He stopped and stared for the longest time at hieroglyphics he couldn't read. Clearly the pictograms meant something, but what did "LADIES" indicate? Was it a spell or a warning?

Inside a hall ("Egyptian death and afterlife: Mummies, Room 62" --- truly a mighty spell) he found dozens of sarcophagi of all sizes behind strange, transparent walls. Some were tall, and others small, and most curiously of all, they were empty. Down a passageway, he saw two children, their shoulders still wrapped in bandages like his own, running gleefully after a small birdlike creature made of bones.

Imhotep shook his head at the wonder of it all.

"Takes you by surprise, doesn't it?"

At last, he understood something spoken by another in this bizarre afterlife. He turned, and he saw a handsome young man approaching him from the other end of the room. The youth wore the garb of royalty. Imhotep bowed his head, filled with a sudden shame. He did not deserve to be in the presence of royalty, not here in his death.

"I was a little overwhelmed myself when I first woke up. No one let me out of my tomb for years. Can you imagine being alive, unable to move, as the world passes by you?" He shivered.

"Yes. I can." Imhotep would not meet his eyes.

"I suppose you might at that." The young man approached him like he might a scared bird. With a gentleness Imhotep felt he did not deserve, he laid his hand on Imhotep's shoulder. "It's going to be all right, you know. Welcome back to life."

Warmth bloomed through him, suddenly, radiating from where the man's hand touched him, and burning onto his wrist with a blaze of fire. The youth jumped back, clutching his own forearm.

"Merenkahre," Imhotep gasped. "What have you done to me?"

"Merenkahre is my father," the other panted, staring incredulously at his wrist. "I am Ahkmenrah."

The word echoed between them, vibrating in the fresh wound upon Imhotep's wrist. No, not a wound. It appeared like an old brand, the skin darkened and raised in the shape of a heron. He looked at it, and showed it in wonderment to Ahkmenrah. His own wrist still writhed, shapes squirming.

"Tell me your name," said Ahkmenrah.

At the word "Imhotep," Ahkmenrah's wrist composed itself into the same image, but mirrored. The two herons faced each other, beaks pointed at one another, two feathers in each crest.

"Ah," said Ahkmenrah, and his face broke into a wide, happy smile. In a moment, he threw his arms around Imhotep in embrace. "I have waited to meet you for so very long."

His arms full of happy, good-looking young man, Imhotep couldn't speak. He'd heard the stories of course. There were few true soul's mates. Giggling, blushing youths and girls sometimes took inks and drew the same images on their arms, then announced they were true soulmates, but that was a child's game. He had hoped, once, that when he first broke Pharaoh’s decree and touched Anck Su Namun's shoulder that their bodies would show the same image, but her skin remained flawless and his stayed bare. His heart had been searching for another, but by then, it had been too late. The Pharaoh was already dead, and for nothing.

"Come," Ahkmenrah said, breaking the embrace and taking his hand. "You must meet Mother and Father. They'll be so happy to meet you."

He pulled Imhotep with him past more displays. "The afterlife is not what I pictured," Imhotep said as they walked by jade creatures chasing each other's short tails.

Ahkmenrah paused. "Of course. You don't know. This isn't the afterlife. Well, it is, I suppose, but not the one we were told about."

"I died." Slowly. Over centuries. He felt the horror creeping over his face, and quickly Ahkmenrah raised a hand to his cheek, soothing him.

"I know. I died, too." He placed his other hand on Imhotep's other cheek, cradling his face. "We have been given another chance. It isn't life here, not really, but it's something more than death."

"We are in the underworld."

"No, we are in a museum."

Imhotep didn't know the word. "What is that?"

"A place to remember the past. All of history is on display here, and at night, we wander the halls again. I have so much to show you. Ancient humans! Astronauts! I'm sure you didn't know, humans and all life evolved from unicellular organisms. It's amazing. I've met some of them." He frowned. "Not good conversationalists, I'm afraid."

His words were almost as meaningless as the yellow-haired man's had been. "And we live here?"

"At night. The tablet's magic grants us this space to exist. I've been at this museum for three years. Before that, I was in New York."

"Another museum?" The word tasted strange on his tongue.

"Something like that, yes." Ahkmenrah smiled, and he had a very nice smile. "I have so much to tell you, and I want to learn everything about you. What dynasty were you from? We could look you up, see if any of your friends are here."

Imhotep pulled back. The Pharaoh could be here.

"I don't remember," he said.

"That's fine. Many of us have memory issues when we first awaken. We all died a bit young, and it tended to be traumatic. Oh, that's another new thing. We all have psychologies now. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Is that a kind of flower?"

Ahkmenrah laughed, but not cruelly. The question had delighted him. "No, it means the things we're thinking and feeling even when we don't know we're thinking and feeling them. For example, thanks to psychology, I can accept that despite loving my brother as my brother, I am also angry with him for murdering me."

"Your brother killed you?"

"Our parents as well. He really wanted the throne. All water down the Nile now, but according to a head bust of Dr. Jung, we all still have lingering resentment towards Kahmunrah. Oh, there's an idea. We can go talk to Dr. Jung later if you'd like and find out what your trauma was."

Imhotep shook his head. Trauma? Resentment? Ahkmenrah had been murdered by his own brother, royalty killing royalty. The last thing he wanted was for his new-found soulmate to discover he was here because he'd killed another king. Imhotep could only imagine the growing horror on Ahkmenrah's face. Anything was better than that.

Almost anything. Merenkahre's face was unusually stern when Ahkmenrah presented Imhotep to his parents and proudly displayed the marks on their arms. "Your majesty," said Imhotep, bowing low.

"After all this time," said Shepseheret, far more pleased than her husband. She took Imhotep's hand. "I didn't know if he could find the other half of his soul after death, but here you are."

Merenkahre grunted. "I suppose."

"Now dear, be nice."

Merenkahre gestured at Imhotep, who stayed bowed. "He's a priest. He's not a suitable match for Ahkmenrah."

"Father, don't be like that."

"Like what? You would have been a king, my boy. Your heart should be matched to another king, one of high birth. Why did they even mummify you, hm? Priests perform mummification, they don't get mummified." He scowled.

"I was dead, your majesty. I wasn't consulted in my own burial."

Ahkmenrah laughed. He had a nice laugh, sweet and inviting. Imhotep wanted to hear more of it. "Father, his display is new. We can go read it if you want. I don't think the archaeologists at Hamunaptra knew for sure, but it's always funny seeing what they come up with." He approached his father, bowing his head in a nod before flashing that smile. "Please, Father. I've waited so long to meet the right person. Can you try to be happy for me?"

Merenkahre's scowl gentled into an indulgent expression filled with love. "I will try. It will not be easy. After all these centuries, I never imagined any of this. You were parted from us for so long, and now you'll want to spend time with the priest here instead of with your mother and me."

"His name is Imhotep. Try to say it. And be nice."

Merenkahre glared at Imhotep, slowly softening into a more neutral look. "Imhotep," he said, picking his words. "Welcome to the family."

After a while, Imhotep felt a strange tiredness settle into his limbs. "What is happening?"

"Daybreak is coming soon. We'd best get back into our displays. Come on, I'll help you into yours." Ahkmenrah led him to the room where the Hamunaptra display was kept. Imhotep balked at lying down inside his coffin again. "It's all right," said Ahkmenrah. "I promise it will be all right. We'll wake up again after sunset. We can spend every night together."

"I was in there for so long."

"Now you'll only be there for a few hours, and you won't even know it."

Imhotep trembled. Ahkmenrah cradled his face again, and to Imhotep's surprise and happiness, he kissed him. The mark on his arm burned pleasantly, matched with a warmth in his loins. Death, it seemed, retained some pleasures of life.

"I promise."

As Ahkmenrah lifted the lid of his coffin over him, the last thing Imhotep saw was his handsome face. Then there was darkness.

The darkness may have lasted minutes or hours. He knew suddenly that he was awake. He knew that he was in a sarcophagus. Hoping this was right, Imhotep sat up, lifting the lid away easily. He set it aside and stood. Surrounding him were artifacts from Hamunaptra, ancient and foreboding. He knew these tools, had used them for desperate magics.

The music had started from somewhere. Footsteps hurried towards him, and he saw Ahkmenrah headed his way. "You're awake! Grand. Oh, they've finished getting your display together." He held out a hand for Imhotep, helping him out of the sarcophagus.

Then he paused at the white markers bearing the strange letters.

"You understand them?"

"Yes. I've had a classical education. I can teach you if you'd like. You should learn English. We're in England."

"That is the museum?"

Ahkmenrah laughed again. "Something like that." He moved his finger across the lines of symbols. Then, for the first time since they'd met, he frowned. "You still don't remember how you died?"

Imhotep looked at his face. He could lie. He could claim his priests attacked him as he was defending the Pharaoh from their treachery. He could pretend not to remember.

"I killed the Pharaoh. I was cursed for eternity in punishment."

Ahkmenrah looked down at the white plaque again, his fingers resting against the symbols. "I see."

"It was a long time ago."

Ahkmenrah said nothing. He turned and walked out of the room. Imhotep stood there, watching him go. He looked at his arm. The heron faced away. The mate of his soul knew he was a murderer, even worse, a regicide. A man who should have been king could never love one like him, no matter what their flesh said. Ahkmenrah would curse him, deny him.

He lay back down in his sarcophagus and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the museum around him. He understood now. This was the afterlife. This was his punishment, to be bound to one who must hate him forever for his crimes.

Hours passed with Imhotep alone in his misery, before a creature perched upon and peered over the edge of his coffin. A bird. More birds joined it, tilting their heads at him and cheeping. Imhotep could just make out the stitches in their bellies where they'd been sewn back together. They existed in this half-alive world the same as he did. He wondered if they worried about the states of their hearts or their consciences, or if like other birds, they were blissfully thought-free, focused on the next seed or fish.

A larger bird joined them, staring at him with piercing eyes. A heron. Was he meant to have a rebirth? Was that the meaning of the symbol he shared with Ahkmenrah?

Even as he thought it, Ahkmenrah's face peered over the side of the crypt beside the heron. "You're still in there? I expected you'd be giving yourself a tour."

"I will leave you in peace," said Imhotep.

"Unlikely," said Ahkmenrah, and held out his hand to help Imhotep up. After a moment, Imhotep took his hand and got to his feet. Touching his soul mate, however briefly, warmed him as though he lived again. "You know, it took me half the night to find this fellow. The animal displays are always so rowdy." He turned and patted the heron on the head. "He's a gift for you."

"What?"

"Sort of a gift. I can't make him stay with you, and the animals make an awful mess. He's better off back with the other birds. But I wanted you to have him for tonight."

"Ahkmenrah … "

Ahkmenrah placed his hand on Imhotep's chest. "You and I are bound by his symbol. We are rebirth, we are renewal, we are life. Set against that, no one and nothing can came between us."

He gritted out the words: "I killed a king."

"Yes, and once my father finds out about that, he's going to be dreadfully angry. I'm angry as well, because you lied to me. We have as much of eternity ahead of us as the tablet will grant. We can't share it in falsehoods. Tell me you understand."

Imhotep placed his hand over Ahkmenrah's. "I do."

"Good." He kissed Imhotep's cheek with a chaste peck. Imhotep turned and pressed his mouth against Ahkmenrah's lips, felt his surprised gasp, and the warmth of his touch. He was real. This was real.

"I will live up to your forgiveness."

"There's nothing for me to forgive. You may want to consider forgiving yourself, though. That will be much harder." He brushed his hand against Imhotep's face. "This isn't death, and it's not the afterlife. It is a place where you can decide to be the person you want to be. You killed a king in your old life. In this one, you can take up pottery, or learn the Cha-Cha Slide, and you can teach yourself to let go of who you used to be. You are reborn. Find out who you are now."

"Will you be there with me?"

Ahkmenrah smiled like the rising sun. "Always."


End file.
